


you always say i look so tough

by notspring



Series: the sun looks like your eyes [3]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, Wakes & Funerals, complicated family relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:43:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29951526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notspring/pseuds/notspring
Summary: “I just didn't want to punch someone at my dad’s funeral,” he explains, even though Jeonghan didn’t ask. “I can’t do that.”“I mean,” Jeonghan says, not sounding particularly bothered at the idea. “You could.”
Relationships: Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups/Yoon Jeonghan
Series: the sun looks like your eyes [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2023180
Comments: 13
Kudos: 72





	you always say i look so tough

  
  
Seungcheol stands next to his mother for most of the day, feeling protective and anxious. He doesn’t know why she’s even going through with it in the first place — they didn’t need to hold a funeral. She didn’t live with his father, at the end. She shouldn’t have to be responsible for him like this. Seungcheol’s spent his whole adult life struggling to get out from under the burden of filial piety — it makes him ache, that his mother never managed to free herself the same way. 

There have been more mourners than Seungcheol expected, come to quietly pay their respects, but he suspects they’re directed more towards his mother. She’s been quiet, at least, no crying or wailing, but Seungcheol doesn’t really know if that’s a good thing. 

Sighing, Seungcheol lets his gaze drift around the room. 

His brother’s still standing to greet guests at the door — Yeonah was next to him for a while, but Seungcheol saw her step out earlier. He could tell it was making her upset. He didn’t see her take the kids, though, and for a moment Seungcheol feels a weird secondhand panic, searching the room until he finds — 

Oh.

Jeonghan’s got one arm wrapped around little Kyungho’s waist to keep him from running off, the rest of his focus on Nahyun as she tells him a story that seems to require full body charades. It’s hard to hear what she’s saying — the door to the room is open, lots of noise filtering in from the hallway outside, but Seungcheol watches Jeonghan nod along interestedly, expression equal parts fond and amused. When she gestures so widely she almost stumbles Jeonghan reaches out immediately to steady her, laughing as he pats at her skirt to straighten it with his free hand.

For a moment all Seungcheol can do is stare, a lump rising in his throat. He hasn’t cried since he got the news. Stupid, that this would be what pushes him over the edge. 

Standing there becomes unbearable, after a while. Seungcheol doesn’t know what it is, exactly, that does it — hearing his uncle tell his mother she should be ashamed of herself, maybe. Or maybe it’s his old neighbour clapping Seungcheol’s back, telling him his father would be proud of him.

Either way Seungcheol finds himself stumbling out of the room, shoving his uncle aside on his way out — deliberate, but who can prove it? Seungcheol tries the hallway at first but it’s so crowded, mourners moving in and out of the other rooms, and it only makes his anxiety tighten further. He keeps going, moving towards the elevators instead.

He ends up in the alley beside the building, crouched down a little further past where the neighbouring buildings have left their trash out for collection, trying to breathe it out. Loses track of time like that, slumped over with his head in his hands, trying to pull himself together. Telling himself that he’s got to go back, that his mom needs him. 

Jeonghan’s voice startles him out of his fog. Seungcheol looks up, startled, but he’s still alone — surrounded by cigarette butts, no Jeonghan in sight. His voice is unmistakable, though, and after a moment of confusion Seungcheol realizes it’s coming from around the corner of the building. 

“—n’t seen him over here, sorry — ”

Seungcheol waits until the other voice fades away, then gives it another minute. Pushes himself to his feet. 

Jeonghan’s waiting around the corner by the entrance, posture purposefully casual, only the way his fingers are clenching around a pack of cigarettes giving him away. Seungcheol wonders vaguely if he stole them — Jeonghan doesn’t smoke. 

“Hey,” Jeonghan says, face lighting up when he sees Seungcheol standing there. 

“Hey,” Seungcheol murmurs back, coming closer to slump against the wall next to him. “Who was that?” he asks, not bothering to pretend he didn’t hear Jeonghan earlier.

Jeonghan shrugs.

“Some old guy,” he says carelessly. “I got rid of him, don’t worry. He didn’t seem important.”

Seungcheol laughs at Jeonghan’s daring. 

“Were you waiting for me?” he asks, not sure whether or not to be embarrassed, and Jeonghan shrugs again.

“Who else?”

Like it’s nothing. Seungcheol’s chest tightens, but it’s not anxiety this time. 

“I just didn't want to punch someone at my dad’s funeral,” he explains, even though Jeonghan didn’t ask. “I can’t do that.”

“I mean,” Jeonghan says, not sounding particularly bothered at the idea. “You could.”

Seungcheol tries to laugh but it comes out closer to a sob, aching and raw. Jeonghan makes a sympathetic noise, only laughing a little bit as he pulls Seungcheol’s face to his shoulder.

“Aigoo, come here,” he murmurs in his scratchy voice, patting affectedly at Seungcheol’s shoulder. It’s silly and embarrassing, but it’s comforting too. Jeonghan’s hair always smells so nice. Familiar. Seungcheol lets himself rest like that, hunched over awkwardly as he counts out careful breaths, hoping no one else comes looking for him.

It’s okay even if they do, he supposes. Jeonghan will know how to make them leave. 

He makes Jeonghan walk first when they go back to the room, but Jeonghan doesn’t call him on it. Keeps an eye out, even, Seungcheol’s pretty sure, his graceful neck craning to see who’s still there — not Seungcheol’s uncle, thank god. Not his old neighbour, either.

Seungcheol hugs his mother immediately, trying to stutter out an apology, but she only shakes her head, grabbing his hand with her own. 

“You’ve done so much,” she says quietly. “Both of you.”

Seungcheol looks up, following her gaze to where his brother is standing with Yeonah, finally having abandoned his post by the door. The day’s almost over now — the food has all been cleared, a sign for the mourners that they shouldn’t linger. Jeonghan is standing next to his family, a hand on Nahyun’s shoulder as she leans tiredly against his hip. 

“I think it’s time to go home,” Seungcheol says, and his mother smiles at him, reaching out to cup his cheek.

“I think so too,” she agrees.

His mother says she’s tired, that she just wants to go rest, so Seungcheol leaves her with his brother after a lingering hug, promising he’ll go see her the next morning.

Jeonghan fishes the keys out of Seungcheol’s hand on their way back to the car, not listening to any of Seungcheol’s half-hearted protests. Rests his hand on Seungcheol’s thigh at the first red light, lets out a breathy little laugh when Seungcheol grabs it tight. Squeezes back instead of letting go. 

It’s quiet between them when the light changes, a smooth ride towards home — Jeonghan’s a good driver. Seungcheol doesn’t tell him often enough. 

“I’m really proud of you,” Jeonghan says casually, glancing up at the rearview mirror.

Seungcheol laughs.

“What, because I didn’t punch anybody?” 

“No,” Jeonghan says immediately. “Not for that.”

Seungcheol’s laughter dies in his throat, his cheeks burning. He squeezes Jeonghan’s hand again, not sure how else to respond. 

His phone tells them they’re seven minutes from home. 

“Go change,” Jeonghan says, back at the apartment, pushing him towards the closet impatiently. Seungcheol only stares for a moment, not sure what he’s getting at. “We’re going to get drinks,” Jeonghan adds, and Seungcheol nods in understanding.

He changes into jeans and a sweatshirt, watches as Jeonghan does the same, and then he follows Jeonghan back out onto the street. Jeonghan links their arms immediately, an automatic gesture, and Seungcheol’s arm wraps around his shoulders to pull him close. 

At the bar Jeonghan pushes him into a seat, disappears for a moment before coming back with two bottles of soju and two glasses. 

Seungcheol watches, amused, as Jeonghan pours them each a shot and immediately downs his own without pause, not bothering to say anything beforehand. Seungcheol follows suit. It feels right — what is there to say? Seungcheol isn’t going to sing his father’s praises, even in death. He doesn’t have any fond memories. He doesn’t want any condolences, and Jeonghan knows that. Seungcheol loves him for it. 

“I used to get in fights all the time when I was younger, did I ever tell you that?” Seungcheol asks, a few shots in. Jeonghan shakes his head, a curious expression on his face, so Seungcheol keeps going. “He always told me it didn’t matter, as long as I won.”

Jeonghan frowns. 

“He raised us to be fucking assholes,” Seungcheol mutters, slamming back a shot. “Both of us.”

“Fuck him,” Jeonghan agrees, wiping his mouth after his own drink. Surprising — he doesn’t usually keep up with Seungcheol like this. He’ll be an absolute nightmare tomorrow morning, Seungcheol’s sure, but he’s touched by the gesture anyway. 

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Seungcheol says, reaching to open a new bottle. He doesn’t want to talk about him ever again. 

Jeonghan says nothing, sliding his own glass over for another refill, and he lets Seungcheol drink in silence the rest of the night.

“You’re not a fucking asshole,” Jeonghan says blurrily on the walk home, clutching Seungcheol’s arm to keep himself upright. “You’re not.”

“Thanks,” Seungcheol laughs, distracted, focused more on guiding him around a crooked patch of bricks — if Jeonghan twists his ankle he’ll never hear the end of it. 

“You’re a good man,” Jeonghan insists, following Seungcheol obediently through the apartment lobby, then into the elevator. “My good man,” he says, quieter, pressing his yawn into the space between Seungcheol’s shoulder blades. 

Something tightens in Seungcheol’s chest again. He doesn’t turn around — reaches back to grab Jeonghan’s hip instead, then his hand. Jeonghan hums, sleepy and sure, and lets Seungcheol squeeze tight. The elevator dings.

Time to go home.  
  
  



End file.
